And shine as you exalted are; Two names of friendship, but one star: Of hearts the union, and those not by chance Made, or indenture, or leased out t’advance The profits for a time. No pleasures vain did chime, Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts, Orgies of drink, or feigned protests: But simple love of greatness and of good, That knits brave minds and manners more than blood. THE COUNTER-TURN This made you first to know the why You liked, then after, to apply That liking; and approach so one the t’other, Till either grew a portion of the other: Each styled by his end, The copy of his friend. You lived to be the great sir-names, And titles, by which all made claims Unto the virtue; nothing perfect done, But as a Cary, or a Morison. THE STAND And such a force the fair example had, As they that saw The good, and durst not practise it, were glad That such a law Was left yet to mankind; Where they might read and find Friendship, indeed, was written not in words; And with the heart, not pen, Of two so early men, Whose lines her rolls were, and records; Who, ere the first down bloomed upon the chin, Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in. PRÆLUDIUM. AND must I sing? What subject shall I choose! Or whose great name in poets’ heaven use, For the more countenance to my active muse? Hercules? alas, his bones are yet sore With his old earthly labours t’ exact more Of his dull godhead were sin. I’ll implore Phœbus. No, tend thy cart still. Envious day Shall not give out that I have made thee stay, And foundered thy hot team, to tune my lay. Nor will I beg of thee, lord of the vine, To raise my spirits with thy conjuring wine, In the green circle of thy ivy twine. Pallas, nor thee I call on, mankind maid, That at thy birth mad’st the poor smith afraid. Who with his axe thy father’s midwife played. Go, cramp dull Mars, light Venus, when he snorts, Or with thy tribade trine invent new sports; Thou, nor thy looseness with my making sorts. Let the old boy, your son, ply his old task, Turn the stale prologue to some painted mask; His absence in my verse is all I ask. Hermes, the cheater, shall not mix with us, Though he would steal his sisters’ Pegasus, And rifle him; or pawn his petasus. Nor all the ladies of the Thespian lake, Though they were crushed into one form, could make A beauty of that merit, that should take My muse up by commission; no, I bring My own true fire: now my thought takes wing, And now an epode to deep ears I sing. EPODE.